Spinner's Wharf

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by Spinner's Wharf (retail) (epub)


  Rhian closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of peace while around her the tiny sounds of the kitchen soothed her jangled nerves.

  The plates chinked as Doris brought them to the table and Rhian heard the hiss of the roast meat as Carrie lifted it from the oven. If only Mansel Jack was home safe from the war everything would be rosy and bright, she thought with a pang of pain.

  ‘When you’ve had supper, I’ll walk back with you to your house. I need some fresh air,’ Rhian said, determined not to wallow in misery.

  Doris’s round face lit up. ‘There’s good of you, I’m still a bit afeared of the darkness.’ She smiled. ‘This food looks good; my belly thinks my throat’s cut, I’m so hungry.’

  ‘Will you ask Gina if she would like something on a tray?’ Carrie asked. ‘And be sure not to wake those two little devils – I’ve had enough of them today!’

  Rhian rose and walked slowly up the stairs, avoiding the treads which creaked for she had every sympathy with Carrie’s feelings. The two children were lovely and loving, but at the end of a weary day bed was the best place for them.

  Gina responded at once to Rhian’s light touch on her shoulder, rubbing the tangled hair from her face. Her eyes were clouded and she caught Rhian’s hand and held it fast.

  ‘I was thinking about Heinz and I could almost hear him crying out in pain – oh, Rhian, it’s all so horrible!’

  ‘Hush now.’ Rhian held her close, patting her shoulder comfortingly, although the words Gina had spoken sent fear shafting through her. ‘Come on downstairs now and don’t wake the children – supper’s ready.’

  Rhian shivered as she led Gina back to the kitchen. She tried not to think of the war but it was there; a threatening spectre wherever she turned. It was on the lips of the people who bought her shawls, in the headlines which were flashed in the newspapers and, worst of all, in the shape of maimed and wounded soldiers returned to Sweyn’s Eye like faulty goods no longer useful on the battlefield.

  ‘Stop looking so broody and get on with your supper before it goes cold.’ Carrie’s voice broke into her thoughts and Rhian took up her knife and fork, knowing that her appetite had deserted her.

  It was a silent meal, with Gina sitting heavy-eyed in her chair. Carrie gave up all attempts to generate conversation and it was only Doris who made the occasional remark about the goodness of the food, the leanness of the lamb and the bite of the mint sauce.

  ‘Duw, I can’t eat any more supper.’ Carrie took her plate to the sink, her tense shoulders testifying to her emotions. ‘Hours I’ve spent cooking in this hot kitchen and no one is hungry.’

  Suddenly, she began to cry. She stood near the stone sink without moving, the tears slipping down her lined cheeks, her face screwed up like a baby in distress. Rhian hurried to her, clasping her in her arms, her own eyes moist.

  ‘Carrie, please don’t! We all appreciate what you do for us and we couldn’t manage without you.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘It’s not the damn supper – oh Jesus, help me, I’ve got to tell you.’

  Rhian drew the weeping woman to a chair. ‘Carrie, tell me what’s wrong.’ Her voice was firm and commanding and, surprised, Carrie stopped crying.

  ‘It’s all over the newspaper,’ her mouth quivered as she fought for self-control. ‘News has come through from the Somme…’ her words trailed away and Rhian bit her lips, half afraid to hear what Carrie was about to tell her.

  ‘There was a dreadful loss of life at a place called Mametz Wood,’ Carrie continued unsteadily. ‘Ninety-one men missing or killed and two hundred and ninety-seven wounded – and that was only the 14th Welch, the 13th and the 16th were even worse hit.’

  Rhian felt as though she was melting in fear. ‘Mansel Jack,’ she whispered, her mouth dry, her eyes wide.

  Carrie was weeping again. ‘Heath Jenkins is there and duw, there’s a feeling inside me that tells me he won’t be coming back.’

  Gina made a tiny sound. ‘Billy’s there too. Oh, poor Rhian, your husband and your brother – how can you bear it?’

  Rhian straightened, telling herself not to panic. ‘Other people have menfolk out there, too,’ she said gently. ‘Mali’s husband is in France, for one. We must all be brave and wait for news, there’s no point in jumping to conclusions. Come on, Doris, it’s time I was walking you home; your mam will be worrying.’

  In spite of her brave words, Rhian was cold and empty inside. ‘Perhaps you’ll make us a cup of tea when I get back, Carrie.’ She spoke firmly and her words brought the older woman’s sobs to a gulping halt.

  ‘Aye, I’ll do that, Rhian, and I’ll say this – you’ve as much pluck as any soldier fighting in France.’

  The streets were still busy even though they were washed by the silver of the moonlight, yet it seemed a lifetime since Rhian had closed the door of the mill and watched the sun going down over the river. She almost wished she could return to that moment, for then she had felt the contentment of a job well done and known nothing about the battle of Mametz Wood.

  Doris’s mother was waiting on the door, her face anxious. ‘Duw, I wondered if someone had kidnapped my girl!’

  She drew Doris into the house and Rhian forced a smile. ‘She stayed to have a bit of supper with us. I’m sorry you were worried, Mrs Williams.’

  ‘Duw, I’m bone-weary too, them boys have given me a dog’s life today. I don’t think I can go on looking after them much longer, Rhian. Doris will just have to give up her work, that’s all.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘Go on in, you, there’s a body waiting to see you.’

  Doris hurried away down the long dark passage and Mrs Williams leaned forward confidingly. ‘Her man’s come back, anyway, says he’s going to marry her. Invalided out of the Army he is, but willing enough to find a job, mind.’ Her voice became wistful. ‘My Doris is so much better since she’s been working for you – brought her back to her senses, you have. She’s a good girl and deserves a bit of luck.’

  ‘Yes, she does.’ Rhian moved away from the lighted doorway. ‘Give her my blessing.’

  Well, that was that, Rhian thought in resignation. Now she would need to manage her affairs in some other way; perhaps she could get in a strong young woman to work the mill with her and leave Gina free to look after the two children, which was what she most wanted to do. She realised that she was occupying her thoughts with trivia in an effort not to dwell on Mametz Wood and what had happened there.

  Rhian turned down Copperman’s Row and heard the music from the accordion of Dai-End-House reach out into the night and grasp at her very soul. She stood silent for a moment, staring up at the sky where the stars were appearing like faint jewels in a velvet sky.

  In Market Street the doors stood open and from Murphy’s Fresh Fish Shop light spilled in a golden pool on to the pavement.

  ‘Katie Murphy!’ Rhian smiled to herself in the darkness. The Irish girl would be just the right sort of person to operate the looms. She was intelligent and quick and had done more than her duty working at the munitions factory.

  Katie was seated in the kitchen with Mark at her side, handsome and attentive. For a brief moment, Rhian felt a diamond-sharp point of pain.

  ‘Rhian! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what are you doing in Market Street at this time o’ night?’

  Rhian was drawn at once into the heart of the Irish family. She found a mug of steaming tea in her hands and smelled the sickly scent of gin as Mrs Murphy poured a drop into her cup.

  ‘Sure I’m glad to see you, but what brings you round here, Rhian?’ As Katie smiled, her heavy red-gold hair swung forward over her shoulders in shimmering waves.

  Rhian took a deep breath. ‘I was seeing Doris home; you know better than anyone that she’s not been well since the explosion and she’s still very nervous of the dark.’

  Katie nodded. ‘Yes, I know, but she’s been almost herself lately, hasn’t she?’ She spoke quietly but there were shadows in her eyes. ‘Mark keeps on telling me to get out of the factory
.’ She looked across the room and Mark returned her gaze steadily.

  ‘It can’t be soon enough for me,’ he said sternly. ‘Get out of there, Katie, before you do yourself a harm. It’s not just the risk of explosions that worries me, it’s the way your skin is becoming stained by the fulminate.’

  ‘Well, in a way this is what I’ve come to see you about,’ Rhian said quickly. ‘Doris won’t be working for me any more now her man is back and I really need some help in the mill. There’s plenty to do and I’m sure you would pick it up quickly enough.’

  Mark leaned forward in his chair, his face eager. ‘Say yes, Katie; I can’t bear to think of you in that damned munitions factory!’

  ‘It’s not much money, mind,’ Rhian said, ‘but there’s your food and a few bits and pieces of wool to bring home: blankets that get spoiled in the dyeing or washing process.’

  Katie smiled, her eyes alight. ‘I think you’ve just talked me into it,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m sick of travelling on that train every day, especially in this heat, and as for the money – sure an’ isn’t there more important things to consider than pay?’

  Rhian sighed in relief. ‘Right then, will you start on Monday?’ she asked and Katie burst into peals of laughter.

  ‘Saints be praised, she’s talking right bossy. I wouldn’t know you as the same Rhian Gray who once worked the laundry, pouting and flouncing if there was too much work to do.’

  ‘I suppose I’ve changed a great deal since then, but I’m a married woman now, mind,’ Rhian said as she rose to her feet. ‘Right then, I’ll go home and leave you to have some peace.’ She moved to the door and Katie followed behind her.

  ‘I’m that grateful to you for thinking of me,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve wanted to get out of that factory for a long time now, it’s never been the same since Mansel Jack left.’ She paused. ‘But there didn’t seem to be anything else I could do.’ She stared at Rhian, her face wistful. ‘Will you teach me the spinning and weaving properly?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Rhian put her arm around Katie’s shoulder. ‘What good would you be to me otherwise?’

  She moved away from Market Street, listening to the sounds of the accordion; as the notes washed like waves through the darkness, the plaintive tune filled her with sadness and she bit her lip as tears rose to her eyes. ‘Mansel Jack, where are you?’ she whispered and the words were carried away on the soft evening breeze.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The platform of the Sweyn’s Eye railway station lay washed in patchy sunlight. The rails ribboned away, curving into the distance and gleaming silver against the backdrop of the green hills.

  Sweyn’s Eye was alive with rumours and stories about Mametz Wood infiltrated like a swarm of bees into humble kitchen and gracious drawing room alike. It caught the attention of shopkeepers as they scraped maggots from stale bacon to give the meat an illusion of freshness. Women stood in shop doorways with baskets swinging emptily, faces avid with the news that the survivors of the battle were coming home.

  At the railway station, clutches of wives and mothers grouped together as though for comfort, yet each one was isolated in her own private hell. Rhian stood apart in a corner of the platform, almost hidden from view. She had argued ceaselessly with Carrie, who had wanted to come with her, but Rhian knew that she had to be alone.

  There had been little official news from France and the heartache, the worrying, might be for nothing. But if the train arrived without Mansel Jack on board, Rhian wanted… needed to be alone with her grief.

  ‘But, cariad, I don’t like the idea of you going by yourself and waiting perhaps all day for the train that might not come,’ Carrie had said pleadingly.

  ‘Please, let me do this my own way.’ Rhian’s voice had been firm. ‘In any case, I need you to look after the children while Gina shows Katie how to work the loom.’

  Rhian had won and quickly she had dressed in a soft cotton skirt and a blouse with a fashionably high neckline. Then she had brushed her hair until it shone and tied it back with a silk ribbon; she must look her best, just in case…

  She had been trembling as she left the mill house and hurried past the stream, watching as it leaped and spun over the smooth boulders to run chattering and sparkling down the slope towards the river. It was a fine, warm, sunny day and as Rhian looked up at the cloudless sky she wondered if Mansel Jack was seeing the same bright fluffy clouds which hung like a lace border on a blue backcloth.

  It was only a short walk from the mill to the station and the roadway was crowded with people moving in the same direction, but Rhian saw none of them. Her heart and mind were filled with the hope that today, before the sun moved to the west, she might be in Mansel Jack’s arms.

  She had moved instinctively to stand behind a hoarding that bore an advertisement for Camp Coffee. Somehow she could not bear to share the uncertainty of the moment with anyone, so she clasped her hands together and kept her eyes lowered. And so it was that she failed to see Mali walk past, her face anxiously searching the groups of people on the platform.

  Mali Richardson had spent most of the night tossing and turning in her bed, half afraid to rise in the morning lest there was an official communication from the Army bearing bad news. All she had to go on were rumours; no one seemed to know the truth of what had happened in France and as she dressed to go to the station, she had no idea if she was simply living on false hopes.

  Thinking of Sterling, her heart contracted in pain. She longed to see his violet eyes staring down into her face, feel his touch gentle and reassuring, have his arms wrapped protectively about her. She couldn’t envisage a life without him there beside her, strong and yet tender, the hub of her existence.

  She had kissed the children and hurried towards the roadway. The tram had been crowded with people, mostly silent – staring at each other, drawn together by mutual fear.

  Mali had no idea what time the train would come and she didn’t care. All she knew was that she would be there and would wait all day if necessary. Somehow, it seemed that being on the station brought her closer to Sterling.

  She stood alone at first, remembering how she had almost lost her husband once before in a pit explosion at the Kilvey Deep. Frantically she had searched through the debris and chaos, her belly full with child. And she remembered the pure joy of finding him alive. Surely he had not survived only to die on a foreign field?

  ‘Duw, Mali, I thought I’d be the first one here.’ Mary Sutton stood tall, her face calm, her bearing one of poise and elegance. Mali wished she could be equally strong, but if she could have read behind the clear eyes, she would have realised that Mary was simply putting up a brave front.

  Mary had seen Mali’s slight figure with a sense of relief, happy that there was a friend she could talk to. Moreover, there must be some truth in the rumours that the men were being brought home if Mali had come to wait at the station too. Mary had spent a sleepless night, wondering if she could bear to wait for the train and witness other folk’s fond reunions. Yet there was Heath to consider – she couldn’t allow him to arrive unwelcomed.

  ‘I can’t help worrying in case the rumours of the men’s homecoming are not true,’ Mary said with forced calmness.

  Mali’s eyes darkened with tears. ‘Duw, I hope and pray they are! You know the old saying that there’s no smoke without fire.’

  Mary looked down at the slight figure of Mali, witnessing the faith that seemed to shine through her tear-misted eyes like a beacon. There were no dark secrets in Mali’s life, no transgressions, no awful guilt to expiate. Her love for Sterling was pure and unblemished and Mary envied her.

  The crowds shifted and the patterns of people changed. Voices rose and fell and then there was a sudden startled silence as a train hooted in the distance. The air became charged, the crowds straining to see along the silver thread of the lines. But a guard climbed up on a box and bellowed loudly that the incoming train was simply a local one and would carry only farmers com
ing in from the country.

  Gina Sinman felt like an intruder as she pushed her way through the crowds and found a spot on the platform for herself. She was a widow, she knew that her husband would not be coming home today or ever again. He would never be hailed a hero, for he had been of Austrian blood which was an accident of nature. At heart he was always a Welshman; he had lived and loved among the people of Sweyn’s Eye, but in their fear they had rejected him and then he had been sent away to an internment camp and been killed accidentally.

  Nevertheless, Gina had felt compelled to come to the station. She had written to Billy Gray faithfully for many months and his replies had been full of gratitude. She knew how he felt and that although they were practically strangers, they needed each other for they had no one else to call their own. And every man at the Front needed a woman to care for him, to send him small treats and tell him news of home.

  When Gina had asked Carrie to keep an eye on the children for an hour or two, the older woman had looked at her shrewdly.

  ‘There’s soft you are, girl – don’t go giving your heart away to a man who might not want it. Billy Gray is a wild one, mind – got a past, he has – not a bit like your Heinz.’

  Gina had felt a momentary anger. ‘I’m not looking for a husband and no one could be like Heinz,’ she had retorted, ‘but I’m sorry for Billy and all I can say is that he’s been kind to me and I’ve grown to like him. You learn a lot about people through their letters, you know.’

  Carrie had shrugged. ‘All right, merchi, don’t get your hair off, I’m only trying to warn you.’

  Gina had washed and fed the children in silence, her mind darting to and fro as she tried to sort out the emotions that were tumbling through her. She had loved Heinz with all her being, but surely she could offer Billy Gray her friendship – there was nothing wrong in that, was there? In any case, she felt she must come to wait for the train that was bringing the men of Sweyn’s Eye home from the war.

  She glanced around, feeling alone and isolated, expecting at any moment that someone would charge up to her and challenge her right to be here… which was stupid, for no one even noticed her presence.

 

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